Not Making Much of Time
When my father's father was born, life expectancy for a man was about 47 years. I've managed to outlive pre-World War One life expectancy. Yay.
When my Dad was born, life expectancy was a little less than 60 years. When I was born, it was a little less than 70 years. Now, it's a little less than 80.
120 years is about the longest a human body can maintain life under ideal conditions. The cellular bonds break down. You literally fall apart.
Not exactly something you look forward to experiencing. Most of us won't make it that far, anyway. Something else will get us long before that.
I remember distinctly a conversation I had with my parents around 7 years ago. We were standing out on the little triangular porch with wrought iron furniture by the garage. I remarked that I'd already been living in my house for 15 years and how short 15 years seemed.
Daddy made of point of saying, "No, Son, 15 years is a very long time."
He didn't clarify what he meant. I suspected he was referring to his age, since he was already 80, another 15 years putting him at 95. I made a joke about them living forever and quickly changed the subject. They both looked so sad when he said it, though, that I've let that conversation play over in my mind.
My Mother was gone only 5 short years after that conversation. She was already having symptoms of the Primary Lateral Sclerosis that would claim her, although we wouldn't have that diagnosis until too late. Maybe they knew more than they let on at the time.
Or maybe, like usual, they knew more than me, and knew not to take time for granted.
<< Home